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pylades_drunk[Timed to Dec 13th]
Although spending the first full day inside and well assured that his body is perfectly fine -- as well as of the temporary nature of all of this-- helped with the initial shock, the novelty of Grantaire's new arrangement is already beginning to wear off.
There are at least as many hindrances, little reminders that this body is foreign, uncertainties, as there are more pleasant surprises. Many times so, really. He could play it for a lark, he supposes, take hold of not being himself by the horns, so to speak. Be some other character altogether. He can imagine it, can imagine laughing at it. Dressing up and putting on a persona to go with the new body.
But when he thinks about doing it he can't imagine being relaxed enough to go about it. He does have to leave the apartment, eventually, and he probably needs at least one full outfit that suits this body if he isn't to look mad or be forever uncomfortable, for that matter. But even contemplating how to do that much makes him want to just shove this body into his own clothes and go straight to the darkest corner of Tintern -- or the Winchester, where he rarely stops and no one will figure it out -- before attempting it.
So instead of any of that, he texts Eden. Of all the people he can think of to talk about this, she will understand both Darrow's ridiculousness and what he's feeling right now.
He starts, deletes, rephrases, deletes it again and sighs, lighting a cigarette he's allowing himself, sitting on the windowsill to let the smoke out. Polite greetings sound inane, casual ones sound too familiar. In the end, he goes with blunt.
I got a surprise from Darrow: and he sends along a picture, his familiar-and-unfamiliar face looking back, lips pursed in wry annoyance.
I need a goddamn drink. He types it, deletes it, and rephrases to: I really want a drink right now and sends it before he can rethink. This city is ridiculous. Would you ...mind terribly talking to me for a while?
Although spending the first full day inside and well assured that his body is perfectly fine -- as well as of the temporary nature of all of this-- helped with the initial shock, the novelty of Grantaire's new arrangement is already beginning to wear off.
There are at least as many hindrances, little reminders that this body is foreign, uncertainties, as there are more pleasant surprises. Many times so, really. He could play it for a lark, he supposes, take hold of not being himself by the horns, so to speak. Be some other character altogether. He can imagine it, can imagine laughing at it. Dressing up and putting on a persona to go with the new body.
But when he thinks about doing it he can't imagine being relaxed enough to go about it. He does have to leave the apartment, eventually, and he probably needs at least one full outfit that suits this body if he isn't to look mad or be forever uncomfortable, for that matter. But even contemplating how to do that much makes him want to just shove this body into his own clothes and go straight to the darkest corner of Tintern -- or the Winchester, where he rarely stops and no one will figure it out -- before attempting it.
So instead of any of that, he texts Eden. Of all the people he can think of to talk about this, she will understand both Darrow's ridiculousness and what he's feeling right now.
He starts, deletes, rephrases, deletes it again and sighs, lighting a cigarette he's allowing himself, sitting on the windowsill to let the smoke out. Polite greetings sound inane, casual ones sound too familiar. In the end, he goes with blunt.
I got a surprise from Darrow: and he sends along a picture, his familiar-and-unfamiliar face looking back, lips pursed in wry annoyance.
I need a goddamn drink. He types it, deletes it, and rephrases to: I really want a drink right now and sends it before he can rethink. This city is ridiculous. Would you ...mind terribly talking to me for a while?
